Used To Be
by razlahan
Summary: A chance encounter with someone who knew Jane as he used to be. One shot. As always, I own nothing, even if I wish I did.


The team was at a restaurant, standing in line, waiting to be busy because it was a Friday night and they hadn't realized that the place they had chosen, working late on their latest case, was popular. Luckily, the dinner rush was dying down when they came in, so that they were the first ones in line, waiting for a table to clear out.

The five of them talked about nothing, the Kings' chances in the NHL for the season, and seeing how Lisbon was the only one who actually was a fan of hockey and Cho was the only other one who watched it regularly, the two of them carried the conversation. Lisbon argued heavily in the Kings' favor, of course, while Cho remained somewhat reserved.

Rigsby kept trying to slide Van Pelt into a side conversation with less-than-subtle questions as to whether she wanted to see this movie and that movie coming to theaters. Van Pelt recognized both how easily such a conversation could end with an invitation to go see a movie together and the fact that such an outcome was probably precisely Rigsby's intention. As such, she pretended to have developed a much greater interest in the fate of the Kings than she actually felt. Van Pelt was a football girl, after all, but she'd rather fake enthusiasm for her boss' sports team than try to talk her way out of seeing a movie with Rigsby.

Jane watched all of them together and was amused. He loved to see Rigsby's blundered romantics. He loved the way that Lisbon's face looked, like it was now, talking about hockey, so animated, like it rarely was, even though Cho wasn't giving her an inch.

In the back of their minds they all were conscious of the fact that as of that morning there were three more dead bodies that they were responsible for accounting for in the world, but this place, featuring a prominent sports bar and specializing in pizza and hoagies, they all knew was not the right place to discuss triple homicide.

None of them were expecting it when the woman came up behind them.

"Mr. Jane?" she said. "Patrick Jane? Is that you?" She was in her mid-forties, maybe, a short, nondescript looking woman, perhaps a bit more haggard than most, but not someone any of them would have noticed in a crowd.

Jane turned and looked at the woman- and for once the usually unflappable man had nothing to say. He didn't even smile and Jane was known for his smile. The others immediately grew wary.

"Do you remember me, Mr. Jane?" the woman asked. She sounded more hopeful than anything.

Jane hesitated in answering.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Lisbon said when he failed to answer. "Can we help you?"

"No, it's okay, Lisbon," Jane said finally, although he didn't sound like himself as he said it. "Yes, I remember you, Lydia." His voice sounded heavy.

The woman, Lydia, broke into tears at his answer. The rest of the team was rather alarmed at this response.

"Jane, did you do something we should know about?" Lisbon asked.

"Oh," Lydia said, taking a hold of Jane's arm as she cried, but she smiled at the same time. Jane frowned, clearly uncomfortable.

"Oh," Lydia repeated getting a hold of herself. "Mr. Jane was such a help, such a great help when my Jonny, my little boy, when he- when he died." She beamed at Jane for a moment through the tears. "Mr. Jane got in contact for Jonny for me, on the other side, told him how sorry I was."

The look on Lisbon's face went from concern to alarm very quickly. Almost unconsciously all of the rest of the team took a step back.

"I just don't know what I would have done without him," Lydia continued on, oblivious to their reactions. "I shouldn't have let Jonny out there, playing on his bike in the street, but he'd just gotten it and he wanted to so bad…" She choked off a small sob but continued to smile at Jane.

The scene had caught the attention of many of the restaurant's patrons, who were now watching. It made the whole thing even more uncomfortable.

Lisbon began to scan for a side door that she could pull them all out of when this was done with. Suddenly she was no longer hungry. Getting her team out of this restaurant seemed so much more important.

Jane hesitated for a moment and the gently took Lydia's and removed it from his arm. "Lydia," he said, in the same voice that he used when he talked to children after funerals in their cases. "Mrs. Paulson…"

"Yes, Mr. Jane?" Lydia said.

Lisbon wished for a moment that he wouldn't say it, although she knew that he would. Beside her, Van Pelt shook her head back and forth, urging Jane not to. It was a futile effort, though.

"I'm not a psychic," Jane told her.

"What?" she said, blinking back tears in her confusion.

"I'm not a psychic," Jane repeated. "I never was. I never talked to your son."

"What do you-? What-?" was all that the woman could answer.

"I'm sorry," Jane said.

Lydia took a step back. "But of course you're a psychic," she said, trying to form some coherent answer. "I paid you to talk to my son. You were on tv."

"You shouldn't believe everything you see on tv," Jane said sadly. "I used to be- I was a fraud. I only ever pretended."

"No, you weren't," Lydia Paulson said. "You were a psychic medium. You contacted my son after he died." The woman began to cry again, but she had different reasons now.

"I was a con artist," Jane said. "I took your money and I told you the things that you wanted to hear. I was nothing more than that."

"But-" Lydia said. "But-" She couldn't seem to formulate a better response than that.

"Come on, Jane," Lisbon said softly. She took his arm and tugged him towards the door. He went with little resistance. The others shouldered their way out behind them. Lydia Paulson made no move to stop them.

"Geez, man," Rigsby said when they were safely out into the parking lot.

Jane shook his head. "What could I say?" he asked. "There aren't words…"

"It's okay," Lisbon said. "It's okay." She still had a hold of his arm, precisely where Lydia Paulson had and neither of them seemed to notice it as she led him to her car. "We'll find somewhere else to eat."


End file.
